Look-out, June Cleaver!

*This post was originally supposed to appear in August. However, the system shows it was never posted, and I can't find it. So here it is again. If you've seen it, I apologize. If you've not seen it, happy reading!

So lately I've been feeling very wifely, and I have to tell you why. First, let me put this in context so you'll understand my giddiness. Growing up, I was sort of a fairytale princess fan. Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty and especially Snow White--these were my role models. They were chicks who were born beautiful and who attracted thrill-seeking, virile, studly men ready rescue them from evil step-mothers and happy to give them beautiful children and a life that would make Martha Stewart look downright domestically challenged.

I loved the idea of the happy ending, even if I had no idea what happened after the carriage actually got to the castle and the prince and princess hopped out tugging passionately at her corset and his sword. I figured that such a life involved eating quail at state dinners, making sure a servant kept alligators out of the moat, and some kissing (how else would would we propagate future kings and queens?). Marriage to me was the girl in the pretty dress being swept off her feet by the handsome guy who slew dragons just because he thought she was kind and had great taste in--what else?--dresses. And possibly dwarves.

Laugh if you will, but I had no idea what marriage really meant until I grew older and the elder women in the family enlightened me that it was a...are you ready for this? Relationship. Like something based on more than a fair maiden's ability to enchant animals with her singsong voice or a young man's skill in picking up women by simply kissing them while they're asleep. I learned that marriage required many communication and domestic skills that I lacked in abundance, and I realized that perhaps I might live a long (hopefully), lonely (not so hopefully) life by myself due to my total ineptitude as a life partner.

Then I met my husband, who didn't seem to notice that my house-keeping skills were, no matter how well-intentioned, pathetic. He didn't mind that my buying any living plant meant he'd end up taking care of it due to my being born green thumb-less. He appreciated that I bought cars based on color and fond memories of childhood vacations. And most of all, he seemed to like my venting, finding it a humorous commentary on the state of my profession in the 21st century.

However, being raised as I was, I'm always thinking that he deserves a "real" wife, one who makes June Cleaver clutch Ward a little tighter lest the very hint of her estrogen captivate him. One who can deliver a baby while baking a cake AND vacuuming AND hosting a dinner party for dignitaries from Iceland. I think we all have these inadequacies from our upbringing that we cultivate whether we want to or not, but luckily there are those moments when we do something that makes us feel like we are Super Wife, ready to leap piles of dirty laundry in a single bound. For me that moment came yesterday.

Yesterday my hubby, who'd been working very hard at some manly task, started cooking dinner. He always cooks the steaks, as that's one of his premier skills. I knew he'd work very hard at cooking them just right, and I'd volunteered to do clean up duty, but still, I wanted to do more. It just so happened that my friend taught me a few weeks ago how to make a special kind of martini, and Hubby LOVES them. So, I mixed a batch of the delectable elixir and poured him a glass, serving it to him like June would serve Ward after a hard day doing whatever it was Ward Cleaver did (what the hell DID he do?).

The surprise and gratitude in his expression was all the reward I needed. I regularly make him food and drink, but since he doesn't know how to make this type of martini, I'm kind of a goddess to him now, at least in the martini department. I know it sounds old-fashioned and lame, but just being able to serve my spouse while he did the equivalent of a caveman dragging home some woolly mammoth for dinner made me feel, well, wifely.

What about you? What do you do that makes you feel like, even though you try to be a great partner all the time, that you hit the mark right on? Is it making your man martinis? Dumping the trash? Laundering his undies? Please do share! :)


Angela Hood-Ross said...

My husband is wonderful. He does the laundry (washes, dries, folds, AND puts away), takes the trash to the road (whatever I get in the large can...lol), and is ready for any small or large project I dream up to improve our home. So, the one thing I do pride myself in (and I don't perform very often during the week) is making him delicious, home-cooked meals. We both work the same hours (we work at the same college) and when we get home, we're both obviously tired. But on the weekends, the kitchen is my domain. And the smile on his face or lack of conversation at the dinner table because he's too busy shoveling food in his mouth, always gives me that "wifey" feeling.

Cameo Brown said...

Savannah--It's wonderful to see your comment. I, too, love it when my hubby is too busy eating to talk...that feeling is priceless. We are very, very lucky! :)